Fellowship Reimagined
by horseyyay AKA Morgoth
Summary: Portents and omens, gathering gloom oppressed the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, and it was obvious that darker times were returning. In an attempt to stem the tide of evil, a council was called, a meeting of many races in the hopes that somehow, some course of action could be found in time to avert the sweeping disaster that threatened to overwhelm the known world... AU, many OCs
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Please note that this is a collaborative work, slightly edited from a RP, with multiple contributors, each of whom wrote the actions, thoughts and dialogue of either one, or several characters as follows (in this chapter): Wynja2007 - Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir. FireflyOfTheShadowWolves - Boromir, Pippin, Legolas, Lilliya. Rain Day - Faramir. Horseyyay - Oddberry, Merry. 7doom - Elrond. Scribe Of Heroes - Sam.**

 **Thanks to Wynja2007, who came up with the summary, and Scribe Of Heroes for the title.**

 **Chapter 1**

Glorfindel, former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, was not in the happiest of moods.

He stared out through the casement, chewing the end of his quill, his hyper-blue eyes sweeping the valley, and turned to his journal once more.

 _'Dear Diary,'_ he wrote. ' _Something is in the air; we can all feel it. The lads are off playing Rangers almost every week now and always come back with tales of orcs and wargs where there should be none. I am constrained to the valley and my other duties when to go further afield might be of use._

 _But no. It is, do this, Seneschal, do that, Seneschal, ride the bounds, Glorfindel, what happened to that other flask of Miruvor, Glorfindel, I am sure it was there last night... and about those bells, Glorfindel, are they really appropriate for a stealth attack?_

 _Stealth attack? I? Never! I will face my enemies head-on; no need for stealth. After all, I acquiesced about the plumes, although my poor Asfaloth was most upset when he saw his denuded headstall... I am not taking his bells away, too._

 _He likes the jingle._

 _But I digress. There is most definitely something in the air; we are all as edgy and jittery as Queen Berúthiel's cats in a rocking-horse factory._

 _Elrond has called a council, and we are in daily expectation of arrivals from across the land. There is no doubt that something is coming._

 _I doubt it is good._

Glorfindel set down his quill with a sigh. Time would tell, of course. It usually did.

Meanwhile, Elrond paced in his study, face in his hands. He sighed, stressed. He had guests arriving from all over, not to mention his sons continued to come back with news of Orcs, Wargs, & even Trolls for Iluvatar's sake, where there used to be none. He could feel something foreboding in the air- he twisted the ring on his finger. Something to do with Sauron. He could feel it.

But, he had guest-related things to attend to. Not to mention, he could swear he heard the screams of an elleth, no doubt a victim of a prank. Taking a swig of water from the cup on his desk, Elrond swept out of his office, calm and dignified once more.

* * *

The four hobbits sat in the Prancing Pony blending in. Blending in meaning drinking. Their group didn't draw much attention, Oddberry was a fairly common visitor to Bree, and it was only natural that she would bring some of her own friends at some point.

Being strangers, they were the centre of attention, other hobbits crowding round them and chattering excitedly. None of them noticed the shadowy stranger in the corner watching them.

Merry was too busy marvelling at the pints. "I have never seen a mug so big before!"

Oddberry's eyes sparkled. "Though the ale is not as good as at the Golden Perch!"

That ale had delayed them at least two days on their journey. It had always been a favourite of Merry and Pippin's. All of them but Sam had drunk copious amounts of it, Sam drinking a more reasonable amount. The hangover had kept them all in bed an extra day.

"What do you think Pip? As good as the perch?" Merry elbowed him with a grin.

"I'm not sure Merry, but ale is ale so I think I can live with drinking it anywhere." Pippin stated.

"Anywhere! Anywhere he says!" Merry slurred. "We should visit here more often, after our great journey!"

Oddberry raised her eyebrows. "The Shire and back is not so great a journey Merry." They weren't going to mention going to Rivendell. That was a journey that would grab the attention of everyone, and Gandalf had specifically mentioned stealth.

Merry wasn't really taking the hint. "I think we should have a song!"

"Time for bed then!" A little wobbly herself, and a little concerned someone might start saying things they shouldn't, Oddberry began to drag Merry towards the four-hobbit room they had rented for the night, Sam and Pippin trailing behind.

Oddberry woke them all up the next morning by banging her axe on her shield. "Rise and shine! Time for breakfast!"

This caused much groaning among her fellows. They were much happier after a hearty breakfast, gathering their now very full packs and setting off once more.

"How long will it take us Oddberry?" Merry was trying to work out whether they had enough food for a second breakfast everyday. Not to mention all the other meals.

"I don't know... We go past the Midgewater Marshes and follow the road through the Lone Lands to the Last Bridge. I've never seen a map further than that. I've only been further than the Forsaken Inn once, which is one day away."

"Inn?" Merry asked hopefully.

"We aren't staying."

"Why?" Pippin moaned. "Why wouldn't we stay in an Inn if we are going past one?" Pippin asked dramatically.

"It's dirty, cold, has a hole in the roof and most the inhabitants will eat you alive." Oddberry grinned mischievously, a bounce in her step as they proceeded towards the house of horrors.

Pippin gulped, what sort of inn would be like that? He wondered, horrified. "Merry, do you really think that there is an Inn like that? With people that would eat you?" Pippin asked.

"Of course not Pip! People don't eat other people." Merry hoped they didn't.

"I never said they were people..." Oddberry's eyes glinted ominously. "They are demons, shadows from the depths of the world. They come in the night and suck out your soul." Her eyes lingered for a moment before she turned round, grinning, holding in the laughter at Pippin's expression.

Sam raised his chin. His eyes and tone took on a touch of sternness. "Now Miss Oddberry, there's no reason for you to go a'frightening Mr. Pippin like that."

Oddberry's laugh tinkled in the autumn air. "Sorry Pip! I couldn't resist."

Merry's dreams of a warm bed and a cool mug of ale resumed. "So we can stay?"

"No. They might not eat you, but they will slit your throat in the night and steal your valuables. Or so people say... It has a bad reputation. We'll camp at the edge of the Marshes before the inn and leave a lot of ground between us and it in the morning."

The rest of the day passed without incident and as the sky darkened for nightfall the hobbits got a nice little fire going. So naturally, they started cooking. It was probably a feast by normal travelling standards, but they were hobbits, so it was little more than a snack when compared to their usual meals.

Oddberry's stomach grumbled loudly as she returned from setting snares. "I need food," she groaned dramatically, flopping backwards onto the ground. "Is it cooked yet?"

Merry opened his mouth to answer but Oddberry sat up and shushed him, scanning the dusk. "Look! A fellow traveller." All other heads swivelled round to face where Oddberry was staring. "We should invite him to share our camp."

Boromir wondered why the Hobbits were so far for home, as far as he knew Hobbits kept to themselves and didn't often leave their homes. He walked slowly towards their camp, leading his horse behind him, deciding that he would see where these Hobbits were going and if they minded some company for the night. It was better than being alone.

Sam frowned at Oddberry. His voice came out hissed and much lower than hers. "You sure that would be a good idea, Miss Oddberry? What if he's one of those scoundrels you told us about? Oughtn't we to be careful on an excursion like this?" Sam stared into the hobbitess' face attempting to remind her of their mission without speaking of it aloud.

Oddberry shrugged lightly. "I'll keep it safe. Anyway, normally the scoundrels go into the inn, not past it. And if he does try anything, one prick from this and he won't be getting up again." Oddberry patted her poisoned axe fondly, a vicious little smile crossing her face.

Oddberry's grip on her axe tightened as the man suddenly loomed over Merry's head, a huge (by hobbit standards) horse towering behind him. "Greetings." She mustered a bright smile and managed to stop her voice from quavering. Men were a lot bigger when she was sitting down.

"Hello," Boromir said.

Merry suddenly realised that someone was behind him and nearly had a heart attack, scurrying sideways into Pippin.

Oddberry attempted not to giggle hysterically; it was a nervous reaction. "Would you like to share our camp?"

Her fellow hobbits looked vaguely horrified at the notion.

"If your companions don't mind I would be honoured, I am Boromir of Gondor. And who would you four be?" Boromir said.

Oddberry smiled at Boromir. "They don't mind." They probably did but Gondor was far away and the man sounded respectable, so if they were lucky he might provide some (hopefully unnecessary) muscle to their group. "I am Oddberry and my companions are Merry, Pippin and Sam. We hail from the Shire." She pointed to each hobbit in turn being suitably vague about their origins. Just in case.

"Good to make your acquaintance," Boromir said. He wondered again why the Hobbits were out here, "Where are you four heading? I am headed for Rivendell, to go to Lord Elrond's council." Boromir explained.

Oddberry smirked at Sam slightly, suppressing the urge to say 'I told you so'. She then gave Boromir her sweetest smile. "Oh good! We are also headed towards Rivendell, although we aren't entirely sure where we are going. I would ask you, but as Rivendell is that way," Oddberry pointed in the direction that Boromir had come, "I'm guessing you are a little lost."

* * *

Oddberry woke the next morning to find Boromir already awake, the other hobbits stirring sleepily. She was fairly disappointed that she didn't get to wake him up with her shield and axe alarm. "Good morning," she yawned as she trundled out of camp to check the snares. Most were empty but she let out a quiet cheer when she saw that two rabbits had been snared. She bore her trophies aloft as she returned to camp, much to the delight of her fellows. More food was good food.

Breakfast was quickly consumed and they were soon ready to go, continuing along the long road to Rivendell. Once they were past the unnerving Forsaken Inn Oddberry began to hum-sing tunelessly. "The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began..."

Sam stepped along after Miss Oddberry. That was a proper breakfast of coneys she had snared for them. He felt in better spirits for it. He still was not sure if they could trust this Mr. Boromir, but he man had not done anything to them in the night. Besides, with the eight eyes they had between them open, they could disappear into this here undergrowth along the road should the stranger try something. Then Miss Oddberry could use that axe-weapon of hers to fell the big fellow.

What was that she was humming, now? Oh yes, Mr. Bilbo's traveling song. Now that was a proper tune to travel to. Sam began to hum it himself. He sure hoped the old fellow was still alive and waiting for them in Rivendell. He and the elves would know what to do about "it" if anyone would.

Sam's gaze riveted suspiciously on the big man's back again. The stranger seemed polite enough, but if he turned out to be a villain he looked like a tall order for even Oddberry to take down, and poison could take time to work. Besides, if he came from Gondor he was probably a soldier and used to fighting. And that was assuming he was being honest with them.

Still, if he was being honest, Gondor was supposed to be a place filled with decent folk who fought against The Dark Lord. And the big man seemed to be behaving proper. Maybe Miss Oddberry had been right to invite him over. Sam sighed. He wished he was a bit more cunning like Mr. Bilbo or braver like Miss Oddberry. What was a Gamgee to do?

* * *

Faramir pulled his tunic back over the rather crudely bandaged wound on his side. He had only just found the time to patch himself up and likely wouldn't have, had he not had to stop and take care of a minor injury on his horse's knee.

His supplies were limited, but it would have to do.

With a sigh he leaned back against the tree he had temporarily settled down underneath.

He traveled light, more as a consequence of his hasty departure than actual choice. While he usually didn't pack much, he would have taken a few more things with him this time, had he had the time.

As things stood he had not and his ranger attire would have to suffice for a meeting with elves.

He only hoped it wouldn't be seen as disrespectful.

It probably would, much like his whole presence.

Denethor had sent messengers ahead. Boromir was expected in Imladris, not some Ithilien ranger who unexpectedly came in his stead.

Yet, Faramir had yet to regret his decision.

The only thing that he did regret was that he had not found the time to explain everything to his brother and to say goodbye properly.

Boromir was needed in Gondor. His men needed him.

Their father, too, had known that he had not wanted to leave and he had also known that the decision to send him was based on his unwarranted distrust towards elves and Mithrandir and Faramir in particular rather than anything else. In short: It had been wrong.

Usually Faramir wasn't one to disobey the steward.

Usually the steward's choices were right.

Maybe him leaving right after the battle and before his brother could, in hopes of this way forcing their father to accept what he could not change and let Boromir stay in Gondor, had been a little selfish, too. The vision calling them to Imladris had been his. And Faramir had always wanted to meet elves.

Another reason had been that he had been afraid. A diffuse fear that letting Boromir undertake this journey would bring him to harm. And he could not let that happen. Despite being the younger Faramir had always been fiercely protective of his brother.

 _Remains to hope that father sees reason and keeps him where he is needed._

Hopefully he wouldn't be taken for a lost traveler or worse: an intruder. In that case he would never reach Imladris. Faramir knew as much about elves.

* * *

"Not a bad morning's work, 'Roh…"

"...even if we do say so ourselves, 'Dan…"

"Adar will be pleased the low trail is clear again."

"Yes. We could head for home now, be there in time for the day meal."

"Well... we could…" Elladan rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "But then we'd have to play nicely with the Dwarf contingent and, really, unless they've been arrived long enough to wash…"

Elrohir laughed. "In pretty much need of washing ourselves, 'Dan!"

The two had been riding for several days, making the rounds of the low trails and the near borders and their clothing - Ranger-style, for they often rode out with the Dunedain - were muddied and crumpled. They'd run into a couple of orc scouts a few hours ago, on the trail of several of horses, which hadn't added to the glamour of their appearance. Those scouts now would never be reporting back to their pack leader of unshod hooves ridden by light riders - suggestive of elves. The twins having decided that whomever had been followed was now safe, they had pressed on, and had now reached the point where it was as easy to head for home as it was to continue on along the trail.

Elladan reined in, listening and his brother, equally attuned, followed suit. From ahead, off beyond a side-trail came the slight sounds of a horse, snuffling, and on the breeze, detectable by enhanced elven senses, the tang of blood.

"Has to be another guest run into trouble of some sort," Elrohir said.

Elladan shrugged.

"Come on then."

They rode on with caution until they could see, amongst the trees, the hidden outline of a horse, the shape of a figure resting against a tree trunk. The horse bore the signs of injury and the figure, too, for their arrival was not silent and the individual's lethargy spoke of exhaustion or pain.

"Hello," Elladan called out, "Are you lost?"

"Hurt?" Elrohir added. "In need of…"

"...Assistance? We're heading back to Rivendell…"

"...Or Imladris, as it's also known. I'm Elrohir, and this is…"

"...Elladan. Can we help?"

The twins had continued their approach as they called and talked, circling wide so they wouldn't alarm the figure. Elladan's hand wasn't far from his sword hilt, though, and Elrohir had one of his throwing knives tucked neatly ready in his hand.

The figure - a Man - was leaning against a tree, exhausted by the looks of things, blood darkening a makeshift dressing on his side. His pallor was not good, and sweat beaded his forehead. He raised the energy to open his eyes - just - and Elrohir dismounted and came to his side.

"You certainly look as if you need help, my friend. Come, we will take you to our father. He is a healer, and accounted very wise. He'll be able to help."

Faramir had just gathered enough strength to continue their journey when those two voices surprised him. The fact that they surprised him and that he only noticed them once they stood almost right in front of him told him that he might have misjudged how bad a state he was really in.

 _I'm a ranger! That is not supposed to happen!_

The idea of drawing the hunting knife on his belt crossed his mind and his hand might briefly have reached in that direction, but luckily his instincts were still sharp enough to remind him of how bad an idea that was. He was in no condition to fight two well armed and obviously well trained men.

That aside, they offered help and Faramir's hand sank down definitively.

He opened his mouth to explain and, admittedly, to talk the two of them into leaving him alone, but no sound came out.

Realization momentarily rendered him speechless.

Granted, they were as muddy and ragged as he was, even wearing similar clothing, but they were clearly not human. The grace with which they moved, the way they spoke and the light in their eyes gave it away.

That aside they looked strikingly similar. Even dirt and orc blood could not hide this similarity. And even if it had, their way of finishing each other's sentences was something Faramir had witnessed before. The hunter's sons, mirror images of each other, had occasionally done the same. They had been... a menace, lightly put.

So when Faramir finally managed to say something it was the most obvious of observations in a hushed whisper, a little overwhelmed, almost a little scared: "...twins..."

He heard his own voice, had to laugh and shook his head. "I apologize." He said quickly. "Thank you."

Confronted with the elf's -Elrohir, was it?- worried gaze Faramir tensed and hid his bandaged side from view.

Showing such weakness in front of strangers embarrassed him. It generally did. It always had. Boromir fussing over him whenever he got wounded and Denethor's open disdain had not particularly helped it.

"'Tis nothing. I shall be fine. My horse is wounded, though... I took care of it as best I could but..." He took a deep breath. "Imladris." They had said it, hadn't they? "If you could show us the way... would be appreciated."

Giddyup – the name the innkeeper where Faramir had swapped horses had so lovingly bestowed upon the headstrong little chestnut mare—snorted softly and nuzzled the arm of one of the elves before nudging at his pockets in search for treats.

Faramir smiled weakly, then remembered his own manners: "Faramir." He introduced himself. Of Gondor. He wanted to say. _Son of Denethor._ But instead said: "I am... a ranger of Ithilien... Imladris is where we are headed."

"I'm Elladan, and this rude and staring fellow is Elrohir, my brother. Twins, yes, don't worry, you're not seeing double. That's a nasty wound you have there, we could smell it a mile off…"

"Quarter of a mile," Elrohir corrected.

"Half," Elladan said. "And of course you will be fine. Right up until the moment when you fall over and are suddenly not fine. You can have my horse, I'll double with my brother and we'll lead your mare. If that's all right, Master Faramir?"

"Say 'Yes'," Elrohir suggested. "Otherwise we'll have no excuse to turn for home. Can I help you up?"

They were... fascinating. Confusing. Straight forward. Wild, somehow. Slightly scary. And definitely not what Faramir would have expected.

"Half a mile." He said, almost as if to himself, fighting off a sudden wave of tiredness that would not have threatened to overcome him had he not, somehow, inexplicably, felt safe in the twins' presence. "I shall... remember that... should I ever try to waylay elves."

He grimaced and knowing when a fight was lost before it had begun he accepted Elrohir help without another word of protest. "Thank you." He said again.

Their help, so readily offered, relieved him in more than one way.

Strangers were seldom welcomed these days and lonely travelers were easy prey to most. Help was generally expensive.

For a moment Faramir was confident that he could take his brother's place in this mission. Maybe the elves would accept him after all, even if they expected Boromir.

His confidence, however, fled at the first sight of the hidden valley.

In his wildest dreams it had not looked as inviting and magnificent. Mithrandir's stories, while surprisingly accurate, did not do it justice, Faramir thought.

While he was glad to finally reach his destination and overjoyed to lay eyes on the place he had longed to see since he had first heard mention of it, his heart sank at the realization that he was what he had most feared to be taken for: an intruder.

He was not the guest they were expecting and hardly a worthy representative of Gondor's might.

Feeling slightly dizzy he closed his eyes, trusting that the elven horse would find its way on its own.

* * *

Elrond was working. Again. This time he was having to organise a sort of time-table for when people should be arriving, which rooms to put them in, when everybody had arrived and so forth. He scratched a few characters into the last box, before moving onto the next column and sighing. He, Lord Elrond, _the_ Lord Elrond was stressed. His sons were off scouting again and would no doubt come back with news of more Orcs. He had to create a council for a reason he did not yet know and had only foreseen. How was he meant to explain that to the dwarves? _I have every reason to be stressed,_ he reasoned to himself, _no-one else in Imladris runs the place._

Elrond sighed and put his head in his hands. Let Vudiamas deal with the Ereborin, he would come up with some story. Heck, he was probably the best liar in Imladris; which was not always a comforting thought, although this time round it was. Elrond needed a break. And he was hungry. Maybe he should go to the kitchens? But not before finishing the blasted time-table, which he was about to screw up and throw away. _No Elrond_ he told himself _what if somebody walks in?_ Which then of course led to the footsteps he could hear coming up the hallway.

* * *

"Master Faramir? We're here. I think you must have been…"

"...resting your eyes, but…"

"...time to get you off that horse. And into the house."

Were they mocking him? Friendly teasing, perhaps, or trying to lighten to mood. Faramir honestly couldn't tell. Usually he saw through others easily. Elves, however, proved a whole different matter.

They intimidated him, just for being who they were. On the other hand their behavior made it easy to forget how ancient they had to be, how much they knew, how much they had seen and lived through, how dangerous they could be. They made it easy to trust them. To like them, even. And Faramir dared to lean on them when not so gracefully sliding off the horse.

"I should see to my horse, first." He heard himself say automatically.

Though, his protest became futile when a smiling elf took Giddy's reins and led her off. The twins left Faramir in one of the hallways, on a bench conveniently placed there, and rushed off to find their father.

He was left alone for the moment. His pride was to blame, Faramir knew. Well, at least partly.

When the twins had offered to carry him or drag him along between them he had declined. As long as he could walk, he had said, he would walk. Only that he couldn't walk anymore. So he sat. Abandoned on a bench in a, thankfully, empty hallway, leaning his head back against the wall behind him and closing his eyes for a moment.

When he heard steps, however, he slowly pushed himself up and leaning against the wall he let the shadows cloak him a little. This way he at least wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb - or a wounded man in an otherwise empty elven corridor.

* * *

Liliya and Legolas had been greeted as they came into Rivendell and a couple of elves had taken their horses to be settled in the stables. They were now going in search of Lord Elrond to inform him of the orc attack.

As they came along a corridor towards Lord Elrond's study, Legolas was surprised to see a man sitting on a bench in the shadows of the hall. He looked to his sister wondering if she had seen him too.

It seemed that she had. "It's okay you can come out of the shadows, we won't hurt you, I'm Liliya and this is my brother Legolas." Liliya said.

Of course they would notice him. They were elves and not nearly busy enough to just rush past him.

Faramir stepped forward, bowing as he did and regretting it when it strained his wound.

"I never thought you would. And I do hope I did not startle you." He replied in Sindarin. "My lady." And with a nod towards the elf he added: "My lord."

Automatically folding his arm over his injured side Faramir forced a weak, though honest, smile. While he felt as uncomfortable being the center of their attention as he had expected, he sensed little hostility coming from the two elves. Considering that they had just caught him lurking in the shadows that was something unexpected, though comforting.

"Faramir." He introduced himself. "Alone for now, since my companions have abandoned me in search of a healer. I do have a brother, though. At home, in Gondor..." He hesitated, pushing the rising sense of foreboding back into the dark corner of his mind where it belonged. _Dear Valar, let him have stayed there. Let him be safe!_ "You seemed in a hurry. Please don't let me keep you."

They were siblings she had said. Looking at them a little more closely the resemblance was obvious. And they both looked very different from the twins. Though, not that much cleaner.

 _Orc blood... Just like the twins. But here? This far from Mordor? There shouldn't be..._

This didn't bode well at all.

"You speak Sindarin? It is not everyday that we meet a ranger that can speak our language." Legolas said, grudgingly giving the ranger his respect.

 _I had a good teacher._ Faramir thought and inclined his head in thanks. "I am a ranger in Ithilien." He said. "It is swarming with orc and wild men these days. A reminder of your people, be it just a word, drives some of the darkness away."

While Faramir's admiration was not solely based on the reactions of the dark lord's followers to anything elvish, it had impressed him immensely when he had first witnessed it and he understood it well. As much as the orcs were repelled by anything elvish, for a man their memory, even more so their presence, was as soothing as moonlight in a calm night.

As for Faramir himself, it made him feel hopeful to know that something so pure and beautiful yet existed. And hope had become a rare gift. "They do not fear you without reason." He added with a nod towards the dark blood on Liliya's sleeve.

He had heard many stories about elven warriors, male and female alike. It didn't surprise him that an elf would fight side by side with his sister. Though, the idea horrified him. It was bad enough to fear for his brother's life and rely on him to cover his back. Faramir, while attributing it to not being used to the idea, imagined he would be even more worried about a sister.

Liliya looked the ranger who had introduced himself as Faramir, of Gondor. She felt that she had heard of him before... If only she could remember where... oh that was it. He was the younger son of the Steward of Gondor. It seemed that he had been in the wars.

"Have you seen a healer yet? You look like you need to be patched up." Liliya said.

"Not yet." Faramir replied. "But I made it from Gondor with this wound. It is not serious." The pain was bearable, that much was no lie. It was the blood loss that bothered Faramir at the moment.

He had tried to staunch the bleeding several times on the way, had burned the wound close with a blade heated in his campfire and even sewn it shut with needle and thread meant to mend his clothes. All the while he had been grateful for the abundance of a certain weed with numbing qualities. It grew wild almost anywhere and without it he would not have dared to do what he had done.

It hadn't helped though, the wound had reopened each time. He had not been careful enough and there hadn't been time to rest and lie still.

Elrond had heard only one set of footsteps. So when he heard three voices just outside his door- two of which he recognised- he was a little startled. This hallway was usually empty. That's why he had his study here. _Is that Legolas and Liliya?_ He thought to himself. _I didn't think they would arrive until tomorrow. Why didn't anyone tell me so I could greet them?_ Then he heard another voice; a man's this time. _And who is he? Possibly the ambassador of Gondor, but his name was Boromir wasn't it? He said he was Faramir._

Then he heard the conversation floating under the thick door, probably one of the only thick doors in Imladris. The man needed a healer- that enough was discernable from the faint tang of blood floating along with the sound- & the Woodland ambassadors were looking for him too. Apparently Vudiamas _hadn't_ greeted them; probably still fussing over dwarves, poor elf. So gracefully standing up in the elvish way, he swept to the door and opened it. Three startled faces looked back at him. "You wished to see me?" He said in the calm manner he was known for, all the while successfully holding back a laugh.

Faramir flinched when the door opened and a regal looking elf appeared in front of them. It didn't take much to realize who he was and Faramir, silently cursing himself for his manners, bowed and realized that the pain from his injury wasn't as bearable as he had imagined. "Lord Elrond." He said in greeting.

Legolas glared a little at Elrond for making him jump, before turning to greet him in the traditional elvish fashion. He knew that he must look a right state to Elrond, knowing that he had orc blood on his clothes for the attack.

"Lord Elrond, we were hoping to speak with you. Father informed us if the council here and asked that we come to represent the woodland realm, also I wanted to give you an update on your borders- " Legolas was cut off by his sister.

"My Lord would you be kind enough to ask the servant to escort Faramir to the healers, I believe that he is here the represent Gondor. If I am right, then I think that he is the Steward's second son." Liliya informed him.

Elrond had raised an eyebrow very slightly at Legolas, then bit back a laugh again as Liliya cut right through his speaking. "Legolas, I am quite aware of our border situation, but you can update me later." Elrond said. Then his eyes fell upon Faramir. The young man was in a bad way, hand discretely pressed to his side. "As for you Faramir, please follow me, you are in need of direct attention. Liliya, Legolas, I trust you remember where your rooms are? I will come and speak to you in but a moment."

"Please, do not bother yourself. Surely the news that Legolas and Liliya bring..." Faramir tried to protest.

"Lord Faramir, if my prior knowledge of the Orc attacks does not sway you then this should - I cannot have a guest dying in my care from a simple infection. I can tell that one is about to hit sooner rather than later & burning a wound does not cut it." Elrond said crisply.

"I did not mean to sound ungrateful." Faramir tried carefully. "Nor to inconvenience you, my lord. Your hospitality is known throughout Arda. I would not doubt it. I just...thought..." He sighed, remembering who his rescuers had been and that he had not exactly treated them with the respect they deserved as children of such an important ruler. "I arrived with your sons. We chanced upon each other on the way... They appeared unharmed to me and rather cheerful for someone who returns from fighting orc...I was... I am... worried... There should not be so many of them this far from Mordor...not with us fighting legions of them at Osgiliath... nor should they be this bold... if this is any indication of their true might... we have not seen half of it and Gondor..."

 _Gondor cannot withstand the onslaught of such force... We believed Osgiliath a victory, minor and hard fought for but..._

Faramir felt light headed. He could almost see Denethor sneering at him.

 _You should praise Gondor's strength! Not put her to shame by babbling out her weaknesses to anyone who but listens! He could almost hear him say._

"Please accept my apology." Faramir himself wasn't certain whom he meant. Liliya, her brother, a clearly displeased lord Elrond, his father or even Boromir. It would have been a fitting thing to say to all of them.

He swayed a little. "Your sons bid me to wait." He told Elrond. "But if you indicate the way I shall find your healers on my own. While I appreciate the offer... I do not think there is any need for you...yourself..."

"We can discuss this later," said Lord Elrond growing worried. The infection was taking hold very fast, he could tell it had not been present much before that morn. "when rested & able to think straight. I understand you are worried, but the high blood pressure that comes along with worry will only make the infection spread through the wound faster & poison the bloodstream..." Elrond cut himself off. "At any rate, you need immediate attention & I'm the chief healer present." Faramir swayed again. _At this rate he will be comatose in a matter of hours,_ Elrond thought, _and if he falls due to all that swaying it won't help matters either._ He may be correct, but now is not the time. Elrond propped Faramir up. "We should go."

Later. Faramir understood.

He had not expected to be met with such grave news upon arriving in Imladris.

 _The hand of the dark lord reaches that far. How can we ever hope to avoid his crushing blow once his fist comes down?_

This was not meant to be a war council. Yet, according to Mithrandir, Elrond was very wise, both a scholar and a seasoned warrior. Maybe he knew of a way to better defend themselves against Mordor's foul creatures. Maybe there was hope yet to be found among the elves.

Chief healer. And on top of that there have to be more guests arriving soon. As a lord of this house he will be needed… "My lord, you needn't..." He tried to protest one last time, then nodded meekly. "Thank you."

He could see where the twins had learned their ways of persuasion and, despite everything, he was grateful. It just didn't seem right to him. He wasn't even the right guest!

On the other hand the promise of pain relief and rest after the long journey were too tempting to resist any longer.

Besides, collapsing in front of Liliya and her brother didn't seem like much of an alternative if he wanted to keep his dignity.

Like Denethor Faramir was proud. It seldom showed and most of their pride was based on Gondor and her people, rather than on their own person, but it could not be denied completely, either. To Faramir's surprise he had been told he resembled Denethor in his younger years more than once. Neither he, nor his father recognized much of that resemblance. That, at least, they truly had in common.

Faramir, despite recognizing that Elrond, too, was a warrior and as an elf anything but frail, tried not to lean too much on Imladris' lord. It would have been too much of a breach of protocol. Faramir, who didn't mind his own men doing so, didn't even call his own brother by his name when Boromir acted as his captain. Nor did he address their father with anything but 'lord Steward' when others were present.

Leaning onto an ancient elven lord as important and wise as lord Elrond... He couldn't bring himself to do it more than strictly necessary.

With each step walking became more difficult. He didn't really pay attention where Elrond led him, just followed his gentle lead. His feet seemed heavier and he knew that the slight fever he had been running since the twins had found him had increased considerably. He felt frustratingly weak, drained, hot and cold at the same time and so very, very exhausted. It cost him to not show it too much, his father's lessons ingrained too deeply to let go of them now. He grit his teeth and walked on, following the instinct that told him to trust Elrond and letting the elf decide where to.

Boromir had always hated being sick or wounded. Faramir, while usually infinitely more patient, for the first time understood why. "It is laughable, really." He whispered, talking to stay awake.

The old healer in Minas Tirith had always mocked him for it. _'When you talk that much, young lord, I know you're bad'_ She had said. ' _But when you stop talking I really worry.'_

"We ran, retreating across the river." Faramir continued. "I slipped, cut myself on an axe on the ground, orc-made, though no orc wielding it... no real battle wound, my brother would say..."

Elrond was beginning to get quite worried with young Faramir's condition. He was deteriorating at a fast pace, his words becoming mumbled garbage of what must have been an old memory. Elrond would be stressed when he stopped speaking altogether; he would be slipping into a coma then, if only a brief one. A good thing for the body, but better if avoided...one could only guess how long a coma would go for, and Elrond still hadn't checked out the wound properly. He helped Faramir onto the bed. He was still muttering something… about an Orc blade. No wonder it had caused infection if it had been from that filth, they were never clean. With a little anticipation Elrond peeled back the dressings and bit the inside of his cheek. Not good; the herb that had been put on the wound had died and was at the start of decaying. Definitely an infection then, probably caused by the low blood supply to the upper layer of skin on the lower torso. Along with the drowsiness, a slight fever and jelly-like muscles, a minor skin infection had been caused too. Despite the long list though, Elrond had seen far far worse. Things that many wouldn't even believe. "Stay still" Elrond told Faramir whilst propping up his feet to improve blood flow, "and keep your feet up. I'll be back in a moment." Elrond went off to fetch new dressings and poultices. And Athelas- the best herb for anything Orc related.

Faramir grimaced. He didn't really feel like moving about too much. "I'll try." He whispered when Elrond had already left.

The absence of the elf left room for a nameless fear that so far had lurked in the shadows in the back of his mind. It came creeping out slowly, stretching out, reaching out from the corners of his eyes, obscuring his vision and whispering words of defeat.

His eyelids grew heavy, as did his breath, while his eyes remained wide open and his heart beat too fast.

For the blink of an eye Faramir saw orcs and the flash of an axe, small people, like children, fighting, the white tree of Gondor on a warrior's chest and a crest he didn't recognize, a white horse. He couldn't tell if what he saw was but the remnants of a memory long past or a glimpse into the future, maybe a hint at something that happened presently, just far away. Probably it was but a fever dream.

 _Be safe... Boromir. Please. Be safe._

 **A/N: We'd love to know what you think (reviews are treasured) and if you are interested in joining the fun, you can find us at fanfiction** **forum/Lord-of-the-Rings-RP/180999/**

 **apologies for awkwardness of link... FF is not being helpful here ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 **A/N: Please note that this is a collaborative work, slightly edited from a RP, with multiple contributors, each of whom wrote the actions, thoughts and dialogue of either one, or several characters as follows (in this chapter): FireflyOfTheShadowWolves - Lilliya. Rain Day - Faramir. Horseyyay - Oddberry, Merry. 7doom - Elrond. Scribe Of Heroes - Sam, Mellolaes. Wolf Of The Seas - Jovann**

Liliya knew that elves, due to living so long, were often thought to be patient but it seemed that somewhere along the line she had missed out on that particular characteristic. She had only been sitting in her room for half an hour and she was bored. Her mind wandered to what the council was going to be about; Liliya had a general idea but she didn't know the specifics and she loved to know the specifics.

She got up and walked around her room trying to take her mind off the council; maybe she could go down to the healing rooms and see how Elrond was getting on with the Gondorian.

 _Yes I will do that._

Liliya walked through the halls until she came to the healing room and after speaking with one of the healers she walked over to Faramir's bed; the poor man was being held in a fever. She hoped that the fever would break soon.

* * *

Fever dream or vision, whatever it was, it drowned out everything else.

Reality became but a whisper in the back of Faramir's mind. The clean room in the healing wing where Elrond had taken him faded into the background. Bushes of bright, poisonous berries and the glowing, tiny eyes of orcs became more real than his own hands, clawing at the bed sheets in an attempt to hold onto something, anything at all, and avoid slipping into the shadows altogether. The sound of his own breath seemed far away and the ceiling above him had long turned into a cloudy sky.

The young Gondorian had turned deadly pale. His eyes, however, were anything but unfocused. Bright with fever, yes, but he clearly saw, watched, something. Something that no one else could see and that greatly troubled him.

Faramir's body felt leaden. Reality and fever-dream blended into each other seamlessly. He knew that someone was there and he thought that he even knew who it was. What he did not know was where 'there' was.

"Liliya." Even his voice seemed to be too close and too far away at once. He couldn't tell if it was a scream or a hoarse whisper.

At least he managed to lift one of his arms, reach out towards the shadowy figure close to him.

 _It hurts._ He thought briefly.

Maybe the movement strained the wound on his side. "Where are you?"

In his vision? Somewhere where orcs attacked? Just imagination? Or in Imladris?

Liliya knew that while the body was healing the mind could interpret sound; so she sat by Faramir's bed just talking to him. Usually the person didn't reply so she was surprised when she heard Faramir calling her name; she turned and looked at him, not quite believing that he had spoken.

It was when he reached out to her that she really was shocked, but all the same she took his hand. He asked where I am? Not where he was; and that was a bit odd but she decided to tell him after he pleaded to know. "I am in the healing chambers in Rivendell, in the land of the living. You are in Rivendell too, but your body is half here and half there." Liliya told him gently.

Usually Faramir was able to differentiate well enough between reality and vision, between vision and dream. This time, however, it seemed near impossible. The thin line that separated them had all but disappeared, like the horizon line during heavy storms on the open sea, when sky and water became one. The fever did not allow him to see clearly.

Liliya, even though he barely understood what she said and it exhausted him to reach out to her, suddenly became his fixed star. The only thing he could hold on to, the only truth he could go by. Her soothing voice, her cool hand and her replies guided him.

Maybe with her help he would be able to tell what it was he saw, if it was true or not and if, if it was true, if it was a warning: where and when it happened. "What time of day?" Another important question. He needed to know. "Weather?"

"It is sunny out, Faramir, with a light breeze," Liliya answered him.

Sunny. Light breeze. The weather matched. But that didn't really prove anything, did it?

It was useless, wasn't it? It was all in vain. He could not see clearly. He could not think. It was not enough. "I...don't... know." Faramir said out loud what he believed to only have thought. "Can't tell... Weathertop...two men, one from Gondor... little ones... hobbits? children?... orcs... too many." That was all he knew and it was too little.

Shadows, whispers, always, always out of reach. Dulled, blurred, fleeting. Impossible to grasp, impossible to focus.

It could be anything. A memory, a nightmare, a simple fever dream. And even if it was a vision it could happen anytime, anywhere. Maybe he had been mistaken about the landmark he had briefly believed to recognize? "Don't know."

Even the elf's gentle voice and the comfort of her touch faded away, slowly but steadily.

If it was true and there were people that needed help, desperately, now, right now...but... "Might be... wrong."

"Don't worry yourself, I will tell Lord Elrond about the company of people there. He will send someone to make sure that they are okay." Liliya said comfortingly. Even as she did so though she got the feeling that he was slipping away again.

She believed him. Faramir didn't consider the possibility that she only pretended to in order to comfort him. Under different circumstances he would have, but not this time. The fever made it impossible to be suspicious. No, for him it was: she believed him. Though, he no longer knew if that was a good thing. He himself probably wouldn't have believed him, had a delirious stranger told him something similar.

Liliya, however, was an elf. Maybe elves viewed such things differently. Maybe they knew such things. Visions, confusion, whispers when no one was there, unseen shadows in the undergrowth, invisible hands reaching for unaware humans, guiding, mocking, never caught, the sky and the earth and the trees reacting to intruders, welcoming them or screaming in agony when crude axes hacked at them and poisonous, black arrows killed game left to rot afterwards.

Humans certainly didn't. Human's probably shouldn't.

 _Thank you._ Was what he wanted to say. _Thank you for being there and comforting, for listening, for that hand and that voice._

"Careful." Was what he said instead. _Careful if you believe me. Careful if I am right_.

Then gentle darkness drowned out the shapes of orc and that of the elf next to him alike. It was a slow, comfortable process, less like falling despite struggling not to and more like simply falling asleep after an exhausting day. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that staying awake would have been better, but his body and even more so his mind needed rest.

"Don't worry Faramir, everyone is careful when they go out to do things like this, also we elves have decades of experience if not centuries you don't need to worry." Liliya tried to reassure him. She squeezed his hand, and left to find Lord Elrond.

* * *

The suffering of a human had called her in from Imladris' gardens like the sound of a sobbing child. Mellolaes slipped into the room, spied the heart-stabbing sight, and put her hands on her hips with a frown. Now who had let a guest get into such a condition in Rivendell?

Faramir didn't know that Liliya had left. He hadn't even noticed when exactly she had gotten up and disappeared from the room. It could have happened moments, hours or days ago.

All he knew was that he had been comfortable until suddenly something was missing. It was not there any longer. Something terrible had happened. That was - that had to be- why it was gone.

All he knew was that suddenly he was not safe anymore. And the opposite of safe was dangerous. His mind worked with the logic of a frightened child, the instinct of a wounded animal. It was, after all, the mind of a sick soldier, too exhausted to process what was happening around him and at the same time too worried to fully lose consciousness and embrace a moment sweet oblivion.

Faramir had learned to always be on his guard, not just in battle. He had learned to pay attention to every tiny thing that happened around him, to every change, no matter of subtle. And to act, to react accordingly. A change in the birds' song, a strange smell, a rustle in the undergrowth. The tiniest change indicated something. Seldom something good.

He tried to get up, but not a single muscle moved. His body, heavy and numb, refused to obey him. No matter how hard he tried he could not even call out, not even open his eyes.

His breath quickened, his muscles tensed. A shiver. That was all the movement he managed.

Then, suddenly there was a presence, something or someone next to him. It was too close. It was strange, unknown, a possible threat. He didn't know. He couldn't tell.

What had happened? Where was he?

For a long time he had not felt that disorientated.

Had he been captured? There had been orcs, hadn't there? A battle? An ambush? Everything seemed so blurry. Memories, impressions. His mind seemed strangely detached from his body and he was caught somewhere in between, unable to reach either.

Orcs... But orcs took no prisoners. Easterlings?

Maybe that was why he couldn't move. Maybe they had bound him or used one of their poisons.

Mellolaes approached the mortal's bedside, took a slack hand, and squeezed it. The man stirred. The healer could tell he would have groaned had he not been so tired. She almost absent-mindedly took the patient's pulse while studying his face.

Someone touched him. Did they check if he yet lived?

Where were his men? Had not Boromir been with him as well? Had they not fought side by side?

The elleth cocked her head. Her brow furrowed and lips pursed in thought. Something told her he was young, not a child, but not long a man. Yet, something else told her he was old, aged by fear, and discipline, and heavy responsibility. She brushed a bit of damp hair back and began to speak in Westron, with a hint of a Silvan accent.

"Ai . . . What would your mother think to see her child like this? Are soldiers considered, in your land, to be made of rock and stone that they are treated so? You have been wearied by far more than this wound, or I am no healer to the children of men." The elleth pulled up a stool, and sat down, ready for a long wait. She had come with hopes of seeing another certain human, and avoiding a certain elf. Now that certain elf was here, had accompanied her actually, that certain man had not arrived yet, and she had an unexpected patient. Oh, well, such was fate. And such was the calling of a healer and friend of the second-born.

Someone spoke, talked. Orcs did not talk like that.

Faramir remembered fighting men. Men enforcing Sauron's growing army. The first stray groups of many yet to come. He and his men had tried to waylay them and failed. They had been noticed too early. There had been no chance to retreat, barely any cover. He remembered.

Faramir's reaction did not happen instantly, even though he thought it did. It took his body time to react, but when it did it reacted all the more strongly, flinching away and lashing out blindly with surprising strength.

He didn't know if he hit someone. All he knew, somehow, somewhere, was that he had to defend himself.

"AI!" Mellolaes jumped back. The flailing arm still slapped her in the arm. The spot stung, but she had received worse from delirious patients before. The healer was more worried for the man. She rubbed the spot and wondered at her own ineptitude. His condition had changed so suddenly. She thought him sinking into a coma she would have call him back from, but now he was awake enough to fight. She had felt his fear, tried to speak to him, but that had not seemed to help. Should she try Athelas? Soon, perhaps, but that would take time. He needed to be calmed now. Song then. A simple lullaby was all that came to her, but perhaps it would be enough. She took a long breath in and dove into the melody with all the elven sweetness and calm her troubled spirit could still muster.

When sunlight fades

And sky grows dim

darkness creeps out,

from shadows grim,

but just look up

And you will find

One-thousand lights

That brightly shine

May the stars fill

Your dreams with light

May you rest well

Beneath their sight

When day returns

Raise up your head

Find yourself strong

And leap from bed

Greet the morning

With joyous song

Fear not the dark

It ne'er stays not long

Iluvatar's song

plays on and on

Iluvatar's song

plays on and on

Even though he was too far gone to recognize little else, Faramir could tell that the voice he heard was not that of an Easterling speaking Westron with a thick accent, nor that of any human. It was elven. He would have recognized it anywhere, even though 'elven' had no meaning for him at the moment. It was nothing that needed to be named. It just felt, pure and good, no threat. The meaning of the words or even that it was a song he could not tell, nor did he care to. Muffled as it was, it sounded nice and even vaguely familiar. Nice was good, good was safe, a promise of it at least. Familiar was even better.

It calmed him a little. That was all that counted to his semi-conscious mind and to his survival instincts.

Survival instincts. Faramir did not know how much he resembled the great cat he had once seen, cowering in the corner of its cage in a traveling artist's wagon. It could not have been fully grown either.

His muscles remained tense, his body trembling and cold with sweat from the effort, tousled mane clinging to his face. He breathed heavily through his nose and his fists opened and closed. Yet, he did not try to hit the person next to him a second time. Instead he moved his head a little, unconsciously trying to capture more of that pleasant sound. His eyelids fluttered, but did not open.

Mellolaes saw her patient stop thrashing. She took a step nearer. When he turned his head to listen to her better, the healer knew she could touch him again. The elleth kept up the singing as she also began to stroke his hair once more. Her thoughts were both more pitying and less tranquil.

 _What troubles you, young one? You are usually strong of body and mind, I can tell. You must have pushed yourself too far. Is there no one who tells you to slow down? Where have you come from anyway? Where were you headed? Here? Farther on?_

Mellolaes cocked her head and squinted again. He reminded her of the rangers who still guarded what was once the kingdom of Arnor. He was just dissimilar enough for her to be sure he wasn't one, though. Still, his face resembled those of Dunedain she had been told favored their renowned ancestors. If he was like them in other ways, that could explain many things. He was a warrior. That was plain enough. She hoped Elrond or someone came soon with answers and Athelas. There was only so much even Elven song and healing hands could do.

Liliya returned to the healing wing and was disappointed to find that Lord Elrond wasn't there yet; she sighed knowing that he would come into see his patient eventually, and walked over to Faramir's bed and was pleased to find that there was someone sitting with him.

Then Elrond swept in, bottles and herbs in his arms. He saw Faramir thrash a little, in what almost seemed like a spasm. What surprised him though was the elleth by him, stroking his hair and singing. Calming him. But the elleth had the air of a fellow healer about her, that much was obvious.

Next to her sat another elleth who Elrond recognised well - Liliya, princess of Mirkwood. What was she doing here?

Elrond walked up to the bedside and put the poultices down on the table. "What are you doing here?" Elrond asked. "Has anything happened to him?" It was a fairly stupid question to ask-obviously something had happened, he just needed to know what. It may mean that his patient was heading for better or for worse, going to the land of the living or dead. It wouldn't have been anything completely situation changing-he had only been gone five or ten minutes after all. But the one thing Elrond could be certain of, is that he needed to get to work quickly.

Mellolaes stiffened. "I'm comforting a patient whose name I don't know, because I found him alone sinking into a coma. Then he got violent. Do you want to administer the poultice or should I?""

"I'll administer it." Elrond replied. He put his hand on Faramir's forehead, feeling the temperature. "Could one of you please get a cloth and cold water, his fever's building." He then turned back to Mellolaes. "What do you mean by he got violent? Did he have some sort of fit?" He hoped Mellolaes could tell him, she seemed competent. Elrond was many things, but a mind reader he was not.

As the two healers got to work Lilliya once again slipped off, sensing she was not needed any longer, and fearing she may only get in the way.

Mellolaes began striding towards a pitcher, shallow dish, and clean cloth sitting on a nearby table. "I sensed fear in him. Then he began thrashing. I sang to him and he calmed down. I think his thoughts are not here, but in the past and places far away, or perhaps not here, but also not the past."

'Well, that explains the singing then.' Elrond thought as he administered a few drops of grape-leaf extract onto the man's tongue. As for the fear, Elrond could still feel a little coming from the Gondorian, even as he slept quite stilly. What she described did not sound like a hallucination, although the symptoms did sound similar. 'Could it be..' no, that was unlikely. The race of men rarely got visions. But it sounded similar, very similar, almost identical. And despite having only recently met the brown-haired elleth, he felt as though she knew what she was doing. "Did he say anything?" Elrond asked both women, sternly but not unkindly. "Anything at all?"

Mellolaes laid the cold cloth on the mortal's forehead. "Liliya needs to come back. He smiled at her approach and the sound of her voice. Now he's frightened again. What is his name?"

"He is Faramir of Gondor." Elrond replied. But how exactly did Liliya and Faramir know each other that well? A question for another time, at the moment though Liliya was needed. "Do you know where she went? She was here but a moment ago." Elrond asked, unwrapping the bandages around the wound.

"Faramir of Gondor. That fits. I know not where she went. To answer your earlier question. He said nothing to me, but he might have to her."

"Bother." Elrond muttered under his breath. He got out a dropper and Athelas in a pot at the end of the hall began to boil. "You may have to hold him down momentarily." Elrond said to Mellelaos. "This will sting him a little." He dropped the liquid around the edge of the wound, cleansing it.

He then took a thought to look on the bright side. At least Faramir wasn't worsening.

Mellolaes took firm hold of Faramir's forearms, and pressed them down into the mattress. "Easy Faramir, easy. You are in Imladris and no one is here but two healers trying to care for you." She turned to look at Elrond. "Do you know how he got this wound?"

"He slipped and cut himself on an Orc blade." Elrond replied. "It's infected and a little poisoned, as you can undoubtedly tell, but I have a feeling that something more is at work."

Mellolaes frowned. "No, I do not think those circumstances could have caused this fear. No one else was with him? No one he loved, and might suspect of being in danger this moment, or in the near future? How much do you know about him? What can I say to calm him?"

"I do not think so, but we did not get to talk long. His condition deteriorated almost the instant we met. All that I can think of is that he was remembering a loved one- he mentioned he had a brother, but anything about him I do not know. You could try singing again, as that helped before, but there does not seem to be anyone he is familiar with apart from Liliya."

Mellolaes sighed and looked back to her patient. "Hush now, Faramir. I think your brother and Liliya would like you to rest, so I am telling you for them. Relax . . . You are safe, Liliya is safe." Then Mellolaes' voice shifted into the same melody again.

The air is cool,

The blankets warm,

So snuggle down,

You're safe from harm,

When you have grown

both well and strong,

You can return,

to where you belong.

As Mellolaes sung, Elrond paced over to the fire and ladled some of the stewing Athelas into a bowl, adding some water to cool it. Bringing it over to Faramir he pulled some leaves out and gently placed them on the wound. He also placed a leaf on Faramir's tongue: the fragrance released would also help him heal, and had a quality that relaxed the patient. "We should leave the wound to air a little before putting the bandages on." Elrond said quietly. The elleth was doing a good job of keeping the man soothed. "Hopefully his fever will drop within an hour."

Mellolaes nodded while running her fingers through the mortal's hair. She was pleased that Athelas was now in her patient's system and the calm she felt flowing through him now told her it was working. "I shall stay until his fever does subside, and perhaps longer."

"Alright." Elrond said, relieved that the Athelas was beginning to work its way through Faramir's system. "If anything unusual begins to happen, even if it is slight, please send someone to me immediately. I will go find Liliya and ask her what happened; I have a feeling that something happened whilst neither of us were here, something more important than we may think. Thank-you for your help." With a grateful nod, Elrond got up and went to find the elusive princess of Mirkwood.

Mellolaes watched Elrond leave. Then she righted and pulled her chair back up to the bedside, took the mortal's hand, and began to sing low and soft. Now it was just a little nonsense song of the Silvans about different plants and creatures of the forest reacting to a soft, summer rain. She did not bother to translate it into Westron. Her patient would not likely notice the words anyway.

It had been a long day of travelling here, followed by a brief stroll, and then this. Her healer's instinct to come alert at a sign of distress from a patient was as honed as any soldier's was to come alert at a hint of danger. So, Mellolaes let her eyelids fall half closed and slipped into a half awake and half asleep state. Yet, still she sang, on and on, and still she held her patient's hand.

* * *

It didn't escape Oddberry that Sam was watching Boromir like a hawk. She was glad, two eyes were better than one and she couldn't watch him every second herself. She hoped her instincts were right and he wasn't going to attack them. He was rather big and it would be just a little bit of a big challenge for her to take him down. And if she failed he would get the Ring.

She fingered the 'family heirloom' around her neck nervously. That would be a disaster.

Oddberry was pulled from her speculative reverie by Merry. "Aren't those the berries you like to collect?" Merry had been dragged on many a foraging trip.

"Yes! Fantastic! I wanted more of these!" Odbberry happily bounced towards the clump of Deadly Nightshade plants nestled underneath a group of straggly trees.

The Ranger could hear their voices clearly now as he hid behind a log near the bush of Nightshade. He watched silently as the unaware traveller pranced over to the bushes. He realized that these were no enemy or threat, but he could feel an evil presence here… "Do not pick those. Nightshades are poisonous."

He stood up, with bow in hand but not raised. Standing at his full 6'8, heavily armed with shield, arrows, swords and heavy steel armor with a bright white Mithril tunic bearing the red cross.

Oddberry suppressed the urge to squeak loudly as the very tall man rose from behind the bushes, smoothly un-slinging her axe and shield from her back. She watched him with wary eyes, noting the multitude of weapons and unconsciously searching for a weak point in his armour, even as she noted the nonthreatening way he held his bow.

Sensing that he wasn't immediately going to turn her into a hobbit pincushion she mustered a smirk. "That's the point. If you didn't have your head in the clouds you would know that the berries are good to slip into meals, and can be turned into a lovely poison for my little friend here." She patted her axe. Laugh (or smirk) in the face of danger, that's the way to go. "As can the leaves."

She briefly wondered if the head in the clouds bit had been necessary but it was too late now. He was remarkably tall, even for a man. Their new friend might come in handy right now.

Jovann stood there, looking at the axe calmly. "Steady thy axe, friend. I mean no harm...but why poison the food of your companions?"

Oddberry rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to poison my friends. I poison my enemies and I always like to be prepared and have some berries on hand case it's not appropriate to give them a little nick with my axe."

Jovann nodded, and raised an eyebrow. "What an odd way to handle the enemy." He crossed his arms.

Oddberry slung her axe and shield back on her back and proceeded to harvest the bushes, leaving some leaves and berries intact so they would continue to grow. She kept the man in her sight. Having finished her collection, Oddberry began storing her loot in many jars and pouches. "And well, when the rest of the world is over 2ft taller than you, you can't exactly rely on brawn. So who are you?" She enquired.

"My name is of no importance...I am simply a Ranger..."

"I do like your name Of No Importance. And I've always wanted to meet a ranger! Where are you headed? If you are going to Rivendell you are welcome to join us." Oddberry secured the flaps on her bag and gave the mystery man her brightest smile. "I should get back before my fellow hobbits wonder what evil man I've met in the bushes." She began to bounce off calling over her shoulder "Nice to meet you Of No Importance." She giggled to herself as she went. Sam would have loved him.

Jovann was confused. "I'm headed to Rivendell for supplies, but..."

He thought to himself as she bounced off. So she's not alone...I figured the wilderness would be too dangerous for a Lone Hobbit...I must determine the nature of this group, seeing how Orcs have sent scavengers out here... Jovann chose to follow the trail of the gleeful she-hobbit. He didn't expect her to take him seriously when he said Of No Importance.

Whilst waiting for Oddberry to finish berry picking, the hobbits had decided that it was a fantastic opportunity to have second breakfast and Merry was just getting some bacon cooking when she re-emerged with a tall, heavily armoured man and horse a little way behind.

"Oddberry! Behind you!"

She glanced over her shoulder. So he was coming. Brilliant! "I know!" She giggled back at her friend's worried face. "I'm collecting them!"

Jovann stopped and hesitated as Merry pointed him out, anticipating an attack. He then turned to see his white horse behind him. "Silver, what are you doing here girl?"

Silver licked his face and shivered.

"Something frightened you?...Hmm..."

Merry continued to stare at the man as the horse began to lick his face.

Oddberry shrugged and giggled. "He's a ranger." That was a fantastic explanation for his weird behaviour. "His name is Of No Importance." Merry's eyes boggled. Men were just getting weirder.

Oddberry's laugh tinkled in the air as she saw Merry's expression. "It's not really that, he's just not being all that forthcoming and I have to call him something..."

Not forthcoming did not sound encouraging in Merry's book.

Jovann ignored their conversation about his name. He frowned thinking to himself. "Something's not right...Silver only runs to me when there is a threat nearby..."

He looked at them.

"We aren't alone."

 **A/N: We'd love to know what you think (reviews are treasured)**

 **And if you are interested in joining the fun, you can find us at fanfiction** **forum/Lord-of-the-Rings-RP/180999/**

 **apologies for awkwardness of link... FF is not being helpful here ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Two**

 **A/N: Please note that this is a collaborative work, slightly edited from a RP, with multiple contributors, each of whom wrote the actions, thoughts and dialogue of either one, or several characters as follows (in this chapter): FireflyOfTheShadowWolves - Lilliya, Legolas. Rain Day - Faramir. Horseyyay - Oddberry, Merry. 7doom - Elrond, Vudiamas, Gimli Scribe Of Heroes - Sam, Mellolaes. Wolf Of The Seas - Jovann**

Vudiamas walked down the steps onto the main entrance of Imladris to see four dwarves waiting, not anxiously but almost, angrily. Their axes and hammers were on the brink of being drawn. And… that one. Although his hair was now greying, he remembered him. He had been one of the Erebor company… so that red-bearded one, the one who seemed to be leading, that must be his son. But it mattered not.

"Greetings," said Vudiamas bowing his head for a moment, "and welcome to Imladris. Thank-you for coming out of your way for this council..." He got cut off by the red-beard.

"Oh, stop with the formalities already and tell us where we can find food and beds." Said Gimli, annoyed. His father had warned him: elves would talk far longer than they acted. This one didn't seem to be an expectation. He wouldn't be surprised if he talked for an hour before showing them anywhere! He was hungry and his feet wanted rest.

 _'Well_ _,'_ Vudiamas thought. ' _These dwarves are a… bit more respectful.'_ They had almost managed to go a full minute without stopping his talking. Nor had they offered any insult… yet. That was soon to be changed as Vudiamas heard the elder dwarf - the one from the Erebor company - muttering under his breath.

"Food, my foot. Rabbit food! All greens and hardly any bread but meat! Never any meat!"

Vudiamas calmly and politely ignored him. "Master dwarf," Vudiamas replied to the red-beard. "If you and your companions are ready, then please follow me to your rooms. They are awaiting you." He would show them immediately, if only to spare his and many other elves ears from the complaints that would likely come their way if they didn't. Also, he had learned a more difficult way last time they had dwarven guests that they did not appreciate being left waiting. He turned and looked behind his shoulder to see if the dwarves were coming.

Gimli grunted. _Well at least this one seems to be doing something. I bet the walk to the rooms takes hours though. Father said this place was a maze'_. He decided then, that there was no time like the present. "Come on dwarves, lass.'" He grumbled to the group. Thankfully, they all followed, but it did not spare the grumbling he heard under their breaths.

As they entered the main wing of Imladris where the dwarves would be staying, Vudiamas announced "You may want to note where you are going, as the hallways can sometimes get rather complex and often look similar. If you get lost though, any elf you pass will point you in the correct direction." _'_ _Willingly,'_ Vudiamas thought, _'_ _possibly not so much._ _'_ Although elves held less emotion toward the dwarves in their rivalry, some still made a larger deal of it than it should. His train of thought was cut off by the-feminine sounding?- grumbles of a blond bearded dwarf. Was this possibly one of the famous dwarf women?

"Is he calling us idiots?" She whispered to the companions, "of course we remember our way!"

"Peace," an elder one said, "he might get annoyed. He has some magic about him, I swear!"

Vudiamas risked himself a small smirk. Magic, yes. Much of it, no: his grey robe probably helped with the image. Getting annoyed - that was yet to be decided. Finally (and quite gratefully on his part) they got to the corridor where the dwarves would be staying.

"Why have we stopp..." one dwarf was cut off by another's hand over their mouth.

"These are the rooms in which you will be staying during your time here." he explained. "There are the three in front of us, and the one behind. You may pick which ones. A maid has been assigned to this area; if there is anything in particular that you need, you may call for her. Dinner will be in around an hour - follow the hallways northward to find the dining hall, or if in doubt follow everybody else. Are there any queries?" Thankfully, there were none. "In that case, I shall let you retire to your rooms. If you need assistance, do not hesitate to as..."

"ask, cut the blabbing. We will be retiring now." The young leader - the one with the fiery red beard - stated. "Farewell then." Vudiamas then said with a polite nod, and he went around the corner, before leaning against a wall and wiping his brow. That went… well much better than last time. Infinitely better in fact. Still - he did not have his hopes up.

Gimli rolled his eyes as the elf left. _'Elves.'_

* * *

"We aren't alone."

The words hung in the air for a second, heavy and ominous.

Jovann looked at the group. "I expect you take me to be a threat, with making such an entrance as I did, but you are all in danger. We must ride to Rivendell immediately, before the orcs find us." He drew an arrow and readied it in his bow, looking around as though he had been in a war. "I will explain on the way." He jumped into the saddle of Silver, and attempted to calm the horse as he scanned the area.

Oddberry's smile disappeared immediately. For the second time that morning she found herself un-slinging her weapons. "Pack up the food now!" The urgency in her voice brooked no argument and Merry complied immediately. "Boromir, we might need some of your soldier skills soon." Oddberry looked at their companion, hoping he was as fearsome a warrior as he looked.

Sam was by no means against them packing up the food and getting as far from here as possible. Nor was he against getting on to Rivendell as fast as they may. He just wished Miss Oddberry was not so set on taking these big men with them. What if they turned their weapons on them instead of whatever they 'said' was out there? What was out there? Either way, while packing up the food he's be sure to pocket a few good stones. Maybe he could get Merry and Pippin to do the same without alerting the big folk.

Then, two orcs jumped out of the bushes. One ran toward Sam while the other ran toward Oddberry.

Jovann aimed his bow in the direction of Sam, and fired, nailing the orc in the head with it, killing the baddie instantly. Sam's eyes were twice as big around as normal as he stared at the monster lying in front of him. He backed away from the corpse with the arrow sticking out of it. Maybe having the big folk with them was a good idea after all.

Oddberry laughed slightly maniacally as the orc thundered towards her, adrenaline flooding her veins. She ducked under its first wild swing easily, it wasn't expecting her to fight back. She then swung around and caught it in the side with a swing from her axe before stepping out of its reach, looking for the next foe, satisfied by the knowledge that the orc was doomed. If the damage to its squishy insides didn't kill it then the poison would. It was one of her favourites.

As the orc crashed to the ground next to her Oddberry turned to her companions. "Now I really like Of No Importance's suggestion of riding to Rivendell. Unfortunately... we only have two horses."

More orcs arrived, and Jovann put his bow away as he grabbed his shield and bastard sword. "Everyone move!"

"Or... we just stand here and kill." Oddberry muttered as the small band of orcs, perhaps ten or so strong, advanced.

Merry took the sensible option and decided to start running, grabbing some packs as he did so.

Sam moved. As the chief cook, he knew which supplies were most important and heaviest. He grabbed these and stood back up. Now that he was ready to run, though, he did not know where to run so as not to smack into the arms of an orc.

The orc scavengers began to swarm them, a good number heading for Oddberry.

Jovann galloped over to Sam, and hauled him onto the back of the horse as he pulled him out of the way of the incoming orcs, blocking arrows with his shield. He then hopped off of Silver and helped Oddberry fight off the incoming orcs, demonstrating expert skill.

Sam caught sight of Mr. Merry with his arms full of packs. Next, he looked for Miss Oddberry was. Finding her wasn't difficult with her giggling like she was. That was a might disturbing, but he was glad to see her well and dealing with these brutes. He glanced at the new, big man hacking through the goblins as well. Looked like Miss Oddberry was right to bring him. Then Sam sighed. If only he had been able to pocket some good throwing stone, he might have been able to do 'something' atop this here horse. If he could manage to let go of the saddle pommel a waaaaaaaaay up here where no hobbit should be.

"We'll be right behind you!" Jovann smacked the bottom of Silver, causing the horse to rear then gallop away from the fight.

Silver galloped in the direction of Merry, slowing as she drew alongside him. Sam looked at Mr. Merry down there with all them packs and swallowed. He pried one hand off the saddle pommel and held on with the other while reaching down. "Give me them packs Mr. Merry, and try and climb up here with me. I guess a Brandybuck should be able to ride a great big horse like this if any hobbit can. It might just be safer up here than on the ground for all my stomach tells me otherwise."

Oddberry realised that Merry was the only unarmed one left within orc range as he scrambled onto Of No Importance's horse and briefly wondered where Pippin was before remembering that she had seen Boromir throwing Pippin onto his own horse and sending him out of the orcs' reach. Briefly distracted by that musing, she had to quickly duck an orc's jagged blade and returned to concentrating on trying to hit as many enemies as possible, and letting the poison coating her blade work its magic. She danced among the brutes, her size her main advantage, and legs her main target. The orcs were becoming increasingly wary as they realised she wasn't easy prey, making the task ever more difficult. Jovann attempted to reach her through the thicket of enemies.

"Fall back! We need to get out of here!" He really did not want to pull out Talantesilme, the massive sword on his back, but it seemed like he might not have a choice.

Oddberry briefly became aware of the tall man shouting at her. Something about falling back. Back would be nice... if she knew where back was. "Which way?!"

Jovann battered an orc down with his shield.

"Follow me!" He cut down the orc that came at him.

"Following!" Oddbery grunted, hamstringing an orc who was in her way. Follow the tall man, in a crowd of tall orcs. This was going to be a challenge. Especially when you were only four feet high. She spied Of No Importance's white armour and mentally latched on.

Silver neighed and hopped, waiting for Merry and Sam to be secure, then reared and kicked an orc.

Sam shouted at the tops of his lungs. "Wait! We can't leave Miss Oddberry!"

Merry clung to this now wild beast of a horse, fearing for his life as it began to kick its way out of the fray.

Oddberry heard Sam's shout and replied with one of her own. "I'll be fine Sam! I've got Mr. Of No Importance here to protect me!"

The mounted hobbits were soon clear of the small band of orcs and their companions weren't far behind, leaving the majority of their foes wounded behind them. Oddberry wasn't particularly keen on leaving them alive to attack again but three against ten weren't the best of odds; she could feel herself beginning to tire and could only assume her companions felt the same. And so they fled the scene.

* * *

Liliya had wanted to stay with Faramir but she had needed to clear her mind and organise her thoughts and the best place to do that were the gardens. She eventually decided that she believed Faramir and she would tell Lord Elrond what he had said when she could find him. So she walked back through the gardens towards the Healing Wing in hopes of finding the busy Lord of Rivendell.

It seemed that she was in luck; she saw Lord Elrond coming away from the healing wing as she was heading towards it. "Lord Elrond, have you got a minute? I need to talk to you." Liliya called.

Speed-walking over there as dignified as was possible he came up to her. "Liliya, good fortune shines upon us for I needed to speak to you. What is it that you need to say?"

"Faramir, the Gondorian man that is in the Healing Wing. He spoke of there being trouble on Weathertop, a company there under attack." Liliya explained.

 _Trouble on Weathertop..is there? And if so, how would he know? A vision perhaps..it seems the most plausible theory._ Elrond thought. Instead of voicing his thought aloud though, he said, not unkindly, "Are you able to remember what he said? Word for word if possible, or as close as you can get." It was curious… very curious.

Liliya thought back to what Faramir had said. "He said 'Can't tell... Weathertop… two men, one from Gondor... little ones... hobbits? Children? Orcs... too many.' and then he said careful after I said I would tell you."

 _Hmmm_ Elrond thought. The possibility of the Gondorian having seen an actual event was becoming more and more likely. Mithrandir had said there would be a company of hobbits coming to Rivendell, and the route he had described would take them past Weathertop. As for the other men from Gondor… guards perhaps? Fellow travelers they had enlisted? But he still needed a little more information to be certain. One did not tread lightly on such matters. "Did you notice anything he was doing?" He asked Liliya. "Were his eyes glazed, his fingers tapping, or anything unusual? Even if you sensed an aura coming off him."

"I know that he was disorientated because he asked where he was and where I was before he said about the attack; also he was reaching out for something I suspect to ground him, so I held his hand and he seemed to settle a bit." Liliya explained. She was happy because Lord Elrond was taking her seriously, unlike her brother who would had shot her down almost immediately when she had asked him for advice, and she suspected that their father would probably have done the same.

Disorientation… most likely because of his illness, but a possibility. A bit of disorientation was expected just before a vision hit… it was usually Elrond's very cue that let him know to clear the room and find something to pass out on. As for the hand, that was unimportant.

Wait, how could he have forgotten… Hadn't Vudiamas, his most trusted friend, known a man called Faramir? From Gondor no less? Of course it may be another… men did seem to repeat names after all… but it was a possibility, and he did not want to take any action until he was certain. He just hoped that Vudiamas would finish with the dwarves soon, without being half murdered.

"Will that be it then Lord Elrond? I would like to go and sit with Faramir again," Liliya explained, unsure of how to react to the elf-lord's silence.

"Yes, you should go do that." Elrond said, surprised he had forgotten to reply to Liliya. "Your presence seems to calm him, or so the healing elleth said. Thank you for telling me these things." With a polite nod Elrond gracefully turned and walked away.

* * *

Faramir was awake. More awake than he had been before, at any rate. At some point during the procedure his thoughts had begun to clear up. Most of the remnants of his vision and the dark memories of his past had fled. He still was confused, his mind clouded, thoughts muddled and his body heavy, but it did not feel as threatening as before. Just like the fever no longer threatened him as it had before.

The fear was still there, in the back of his mind, but it did not hold him in its clutches anymore. Bare instincts slowly gave way to simple thoughts, meaningless as they were. He knew that he did not feel good and that he would be worse once he had slept and woke up, but he did not care. In a way it was like being drunk, shortly before passing out. Not that that happened often.

He had screamed when Elrond had taken care of his wounds and he had struggled weakly. Now the pain had turned into a dull, throbbing sensation that told him that it would hurt again later but not for a while.

And he was tired. Exhausted, yes, but mostly tired. The kind of tired that promises easy sleep with harmless dreams forgotten in the morning.

Before he slipped away into the healing sleep he needed, however, he managed a tiny gesture of gratitude that he, like most of that day, would likely not remember later.

The hand that the elf next to him held in hers moved, just a tiny, little bit. While he did not think about it, he sensed her tiredness, maybe even heard it in her song. Maybe in that moment he sensed more than that, kindness, both warm and of remarkable strength, and a heart that had been broken far too often and never really healed the way it deserved to be healed. His thumb stroked the back of her hand.

Mellolaes had tensed slightly when her patient cried out as Lord Elrond treated him. Other than that, she did not react. The last thing a healer should do was show a pained or fearful patient that "she" was afraid as well. The best way to not show fear was to keep your voice and movements steady. What she had been doing had seemed to work, so she did not change treatments. Now her patient seemed more lucid. She noted signs of patience in his body-language mixed in with the annoyance most patients on the mend feel about not mending fast enough. When he stroked the back of her hand she knew he was a giver, not just a receiver of kindness and comfort. Mellolaes used the back of her free hand to wipe away a tear she hadn't noticed building in her eye before it spilled out. She was still tired, and all too aware how short her patient's life would be no matter what her efforts.

Liliya walked into the healing wing and walked over to Faramir's bed sitting opposite the healing elleth who she now realised had come with them from Mirkwood.

"Sorry I didn't recognise you earlier, how is he doing?" She asked.

Mellolaes stirred and smiled, swallowing a yawn. "Oh, that's alright. After nearly five thousand years of everyone I've known that long asking for my name, I'm quite used to it. Faramir of Gondor is much improved. So much so I think I can go freshen up after our journey if you will take my place here beside him. I can be back to check on my patient after I do so. By the way, how long have you known the mortal? I do not recall you mentioning him before nor going to Gondor."

"Don't be silly Mellolaes, I should have recognised you. After all you have spent most of my existence chasing after my brother," Liliya said with a smile before continuing. "I haven't known Faramir very long at all, only about eight hours really but he caught my interest when my brother and I discovered him in one of the halls, wounded. Also I will be happy to stay with him, while you freshen up." Liliya said then thought about what Mellolaes said about her having not known Faramir for very long, and it was true she hadn't and really he shouldn't have caught her interest after all he was just a mortal in the run of things but he had caught her interest and now she was going to make sure that he would recover.

"I do not 'chase' your brother, I simply love him. You have made quite an impression on this mortal for such a short acquaintance. The man picked a good place to be so wounded. And thank you." Mellolaes gave the mortal's hand another squeeze, got up, and began to leave. Then she turned and offered the sister of the elf she loved a smile. "Thank you, Liliya."

"What for I haven't done anything? But I could put in a good word for you with my brother?" Liliya said as she held Faramir's hand, wondering when the Gondorian would wake up.

"No. I am thanking you for never putting in a good word with your brother for me, and for sitting with a man I cannot leave alone otherwise, so I can have a few moments to myself. Thank you." Mellolaes turned and strode from the room.

Mellolaes walked down the hall to her guest quarters, rooms Elrond's servants gave unexpected arrivals when his immediate attention did not need to be called to their arriving. She shook her head and grinned at Liliya's offer. There were things worse than being in love with someone who did not love you back, nor realized you loved them that way. One such worse thing was to have them not love you back that way, and know you so loved them. She chuckled at fate's latest joke on her. Thinking to have some time away from the object of her useless passion, and then being escorted here by him. Still, she did not regret the journey. Having heard there would be a gathering here of important personages, she had decided to come, though she herself was no such personage. Others she had cared for some years ago and had not seen since might come. When one cared about mortals, one should try to see them every opportunity one had, for they withered and were gone within a century. She would likely feel that way about this one now, Faramir of Gondor. She tried to decide whether or not she was afraid that in their short acquaintance Liliya and the mortal had fallen in love. Perhaps only he had with her. Mellolaes hoped it was not that. She knew from experience how much that hurt. Now she almost envied him his short life.

* * *

After only a few hours of dreamless sleep the stinging pain in his side became too strong to ignore any longer. It began to slowly wake Faramir up.

When he opened his eyes the sunlight blinded him. From the sounds outside and the shreds of sky that he could see through the windows he knew that it had to be early evening. The sun was not so bright, only his eyes were swollen and had trouble adjusting.

A scent that he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, still lingered in the air, fresh and strangely calming.

Moving hurt, even if the only thing that he moved where the fingers of his hands. It was an enormous effort, too. He would have preferred to go back to sleep. The idea of just turning around and sleeping a few hours more had never been that tempting, not even when he had been younger and sword-practice had awaited him first thing in the morning.

Oddly enough, of all the things that could have come to mind Faramir remembered his mother, or rather: a fleeting impression of her. When he had been a child and hurting, unable to fall asleep, she had wrapped him into a blanket. Her small, warm arms had wrapped around him, too. And they had waited, watching the sky change and time pass, until he, finally, had fallen asleep.

Maybe he had learned patience from her.

That patience allowed him to remain still and accept the fact that, for now, he could not remember much of what had happened, nor imagine what would happen next. He remembered dizziness and pain, fear even. He remembered a song, too. Not the words sung and not even the melody, just that there had been a song. Little else. His mind refused to focus and somehow he knew it was better that way. Everything would eventually come back to him, he knew.

It took a while until his tired eyes, slowly taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, fell on the elf next to his bed. Liliya. He remembered her. Princess of Mirkwood. She hadn't noticed that he was awake yet. So he waited and watched her.

Liliya was lost in her thoughts thinking about what her father would say if he knew that she cared for a mortal, she shuddered at the thought; at least it wasn't as bad as caring for a dwarf. To her father that was a good enough reason to be sent to the dungeons for a week. Banishing the disturbing thoughts from her mind she turned back to Faramir who, to her shock, was awake. She got up and went over to a nearby table to get him some water and then came back and sat down next to him.

Faramir smiled when she instantly got up to fetch him some water. He would have told her not to, but, well, getting up himself was not quite an option and his throat was dry. Somehow he didn't quite mind watching her move about either. Elves moved with such grace. The woodland folk in particular, he found.

"Faramir, do you remember anything? Before you answer that drink this slowly, it is just water." Liliya said as she took his hand again, hoping to bring him some comfort.

"Thank you." He said in Sindarin, stifling a small groan when he sat up a little.

He drank carefully, suspicious of how his body might react. He was right. The movement hurt and the cool liquid burned in his throat. Yet, that had to be expected and it could have been worse. It puzzled him that Liliya took his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was nice. It certainly felt nice. Still, it was odd and certainly nothing he would have expected. Granted, he would not have expected to wake finding her next to him either.

Did he remember anything? "Little." He replied honestly. He was in Imladris. The Healing Wing, he supposed. "I remember you." He had met her and her brother in the hallway. The impression he had made probably hadn't been the best. She had been there later. Sunny and a light breeze. Somehow he remembered that.

"Nice to know that you remember something," Liliya said. She blushed internally when he said that he remembered her, it was nice to be remembered by someone who didn't have to remember her, in Mirkwood she was a Princess and the elves there were expected to remember her, Faramir was neither an elf or lived in Mirkwood he didn't have to remember her.

"Why..." He asked carefully. "...are you here?" And while his voice betrayed how grateful he was to not wake up alone, it also showed his confusion, worry even.

"I am here because when you were in coma you seemed more settled with someone nearby; you said something about an attack on Weathertop?" Liliya gently questioned.

Faramir closed his eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he could not remember. At least, not enough. He knew that there was something there, but he was too exhausted to reach it and the pain in his side intensified.

 _If it was a vision…_

"I... must have been delirious. Do not worry." He betrayed his own words by trying to get up and failing miserably. He lacked the strength to open his eyes again after he had closed them. How on Arda had he expected to be able to get up, travel to the Weathertop and make sure everything was alright?

"Forgive me… my lady..."

How long had he slept? Had she been with him the whole time? She must have felt obligated to do so and he regretted it. The song that he had heard, had it been hers?

"You should leave." It sounded tired, not unfriendly. Though, maybe a little harsher than intended. He enjoyed her company, of course he did! Yet he knew that he kept her from other things much more important. Not to mention who she was. Her place was most certainly not at his bedside. "Your brother must be looking for you, your highness."

Liliya was surprised when he asked for forgiveness, obviously for keeping her. Then with the way that he had dismissed her like she should listen to him, she had half a mind to leave and let him be miserable here on his own but she had promised to stay with him and she always kept her word. Your highness, she was sure that he had called her Liliya before; what had changed and why?

"Don't worry about Weathertop, I have told Lord Elrond what you said I sure that he will send some elves out to check," Liliya said when she realised that there had been worry in his voice when he said not to worry. "And I will be staying where until Lord Elrond or another healer comes to check on you." Liliya informed him as she let go of his hand it was obvious he didn't want her here but she would stay for the time being.

Faramir hated to push her away when all that she offered was kindness, but it was best. Battered as he still was, he was more aware now than ever of who she was. An elf. A princess. She should not feel obligated to stay with him. This just was not appropriate and he feared where it could lead. Especially considering that apparently he had told her about a vision that he had had and had liked her near when he had been sick. He knew himself well enough.

If only he could remember! If only he could think more clearly!

Faramir paled visibly when she told him that she had informed lord Elrond. He could only hope that it had been nothing but a fever dream and that the elves lord Elrond sent out would find nothing at the Weathertop. It would be humiliating, but he could live with that. It would be better than everyone knowing his secret.

If Faramir had learned one thing early in his life it was that it was better not to tell people about his 'talent'. Even his father, while believing him, had warned him. Faramir had soon found out why. He had heard people whisper about Denethor, about him knowing things which he could not possibly know. They had disliked, feared him for that. They still did.

Faramir did not expect elves to react any differently.

At least the pain from his wound distracted him a little from the strange feeling of loss her hand left when she let go of his. He wished he could just take it back.

Her promise to stay made him smile despite himself. She was stubborn. Yes, he remembered that elves could be that.

"Please don't...don't think that I am not." He whispered already almost half asleep again. "I am grateful for all you have done."

* * *

After washing her face and eating a snack, Mellolaes walked back toward her patient's sickroom. Upon partially overhearing the conversation within, the elleth wondered if she should interrupt. Silence echoed throughout the room as she tried to make up her mind. Finally, Mellolaes knocked on the door. "Am I needed?"

"Ahh, yes Mellolaes. I need to go and find my brother; don't worry I won't say anything to him though." Liliya said with a smile to her friend she got up to leave.

Caught between sleep and being awake Faramir did not notice the other elf, nor hear the quick exchange between Liliya and her. All he knew for the moment was that pain kept him from falling asleep no matter how desperately he wanted to.

 _Oh Liliya, do you have to give a dig like that?_

Mellolaes only thought this as she stepped into the room. The other elleth was trying to be funny, but Mellolaes could smell the scent of tragedy in the air. If the princess was starting to be snippy with this man, well . . . She turned to the mortal. "Hello, Faramir of Gondor. You are looking better. Are you hungry?"

Faramir wondered if any time had passed at all. Truth be told, he did not know. He might have dozed off for a few hours or just a brief moment. He had not noticed that Liliya had gotten up to leave, but he heard the door close behind her.

Maybe elven royalty was more different from humans than he had thought. Still, he did not feel comfortable with the idea that she had stayed by his side and cared for him when they barely knew each other.

When a different, yet strangely familiar voice addressed him he forced his eyes to open.

The elf knew his name. Had they been introduced? Was that why her voice seemed familiar? He would not have forgotten her, would he? She was different from the other elves he had met. In a way she stood out by not standing out as much and he found that he liked that.

For a moment he just looked at her.

 _A healer_. He finally decided. Why else would she be with him, inquire if he was hungry? She had that certain air about her, too. Those kind, but sad eyes that had seen success and failure, life and death, this gentle smile and these strong hands. If she was not an actual healer she was one at heart.

"No." He replied truthfully. He was not hungry. "Thank you." Grimacing the young Gondorian tried to sit up a little. "Have we met?"

"No, I asked your name of Lord Elrond so I could better comfort you while you were still quite ill. You were worried about something, but apparently it is being taken care of."

Mellolaes dug in one of her pockets as she approached his bedside. When she reached his side she pulled something forth and presented it. It was a golden sphere about the size of a coin.

"Put this in your mouth. If you are not hungry after having gone without food for such a long time, that is a very bad sign."

 _For such a long time?_

Faramir had finally managed to sit upright, leaning against the wall behind him. He leaned his head back and caught his breath. They said that a paper-cut hurt more than cutting off one's finger. If that was true, what he had definitely was a paper cut. He had been wounded worse, but he did not remember ever being in such a bad state because of such a small wound, infected or not.

If he truly had had a vision, maybe that was to blame?

"How long?" He asked. Only to remember his manners, as well as his curiosity. "What is your name? And... what is this?" He added, looking at the elf first, at the object she had produced from her pockets afterwards.

"You have been resting some hours. I assume Elrond would have wanted to see your wound tended to before feeding you, so you cannot have eaten when you first entered this house. I also have deep suspicions you were not eating well before that. My name is Mellolaes. This is a berry coated in honey. Mirkwood healers and warriors carry them at all times. The latter can go for days on them. Patients find them a nice, sweet treat to distract them from their pains and discomforts. They tend to only wet mortals' appetites. Yours needs that. Now, open your mouth. Mellolaes let the grim, confident expression of a healer wash over her features, but she kept back the next words that entered her head.

 _Or I shall pry it open._

"Then I am pleased to meet you, Mellolaes... And I thank you for caring for me."

Faramir looked at her expression and laughed. For a moment he forgot that it hurt. Mellolaes reminded him of Ioreth, an old healer who had patched him and his brother up too many times to count and who constantly scolded them as if they still were little boys.

Faramir had the suspicion that Ioreth and Mellolaes would get along fabulously and he no longer doubted that this fascinating elf truly was a healer.

"Mirkwood." He picked up. "Are you from Mirkwood?" That would be most unusual. Imladris had many healers, from what Vudiamas had once told him. Why was she here with him instead of one of them? Had she arrived with Legolas and Lilya?

"Later." Faramir said out loud. He felt light headed and a little nauseous. Food was the last thing on his mind, even though he knew that Mellolaes was right. He had not eaten much before the assault on Osgiliath and there had not been the time for it in-between. Afterwards they had briefly had the opportunity to grab something. Mostly drinks, though, celebrating what they then had believed a major victory. Then he had left for Imladris. Later he would definitely be hungry, but not right now. He knew his own body well enough to know that he would not be able to keep anything down at the moment. "I'm tired, is all."

More than tired, he felt drained, physically and even more so mentally.

His visions usually replaced dreams. This way he lost a night's sleep and felt accordingly in the morning. This time seemed to have been different. If it had happened at all. Maybe he was really just tired after the long journey.

"I… promise you that I will eat later." He breathed out slowly. His eyelids felt incredibly heavy and his thoughts only very slowly found the right words. "If you could just give me something to numb the pain again... so it lets me sleep?"

That was really all he wanted. Sleep.

He laughed. The infuriating mortal laughed. At the same time, her patient was also disarmingly polite, in a sweet, entirely earnest manner. He asked a few questions, of course he did. He had missed so much. But then the mortal seemed to realize he did not want answers as much as he had thought. Then the healer saw the wince and slight green tinge of queasiness wash over his face. His eyelids drooped. Finally, the man asked to simply be allowed to sleep.

A wave of frustration rushed through the healer. Of course he needed sleep! But he also needed nutrition, energy for his body to draw upon as it healed itself! And she should still be able to scold him. The fact he was not arguing with her by bringing up an example of having eaten recently, told her he had not! Mellolaes squeezed her hand around the honey-coated candy. Then she squeezed her eyes shut as well. She must think quickly, because the mortal was almost asleep now.

"Hello Mellolaes, do you know where my sister is?"

Mellolaes nearly jumped and cried out. She spun around to see that just behind her stood the elf she would most want to see in one circumstance, but did not wish to see otherwise.

 _Legolas!_

Mellolaes had not heard Legolas approach. Neither had Faramir. Even in his state he instinctively reached for the dagger that he kept close while sleeping, when he realized that it was not there.

Of course it was not! And he knew that. There was no reason to be so on the edge.

Legolas was a prince of Mirkwood, an elf, and, more importantly, posed absolutely no threat at all. Even if surprised Faramir's what his brother called: 'warrior instincts' seldom kicked in when he knew that he was somewhere safe. He would have throttled several chambermaids, comrades and children otherwise, Boromir included. His own reaction puzzled him.

Had he maybe relived their battle at Osgiliath in his few hours of sleep? There was no other explanation.

Mellolaes snapped her mouth shut. Had it been open? What had Legolas asked? Oh, his sister. Of course.

"Liliya was just here, but she left. Why do you not ask Elrond about her? I believe they have been looking for each other of late."

As soon as she quit speaking, the elleth realized that behind her back she was wrapping a tendril of hair around her finger. She clenched her jaw shut behind her tight lips. She hated how this elf made her feel like a nearly-grown elfling rather than her almost five thousand years. Then to hide how he had grabbed her attention, and do what needed to be done, the healer turned from the elf and headed for a kettle hanging over the fire filled with boiling water and Marigold petals.

Tea. Faramir of Gondor needed to drink a bit of Marigold tea before she let him sleep. That would both help him sleep and somewhat hold him nutritionally until he awoke again. Then he was going to suck on this candy if she had to shove it through his teeth!

Mellolaes felt her face burning. Thank goodness she had already turned away. If she was a human, she could have pretended her face had gotten red when she leaned over the kettle of boiling water and blossoms. She stooped down to do just that, and barely stopped herself from shaking her head.

Why had she lost her composure like that? Legolas had startled her before. Being an elf practiced in ambush attacks, the son of Thranduil unconsciously snuck up on everyone if he did not approach in their line of sight. Liliya and every other warrior of Mirkwood did the same thing. Mellolaes scowled in thought. Usually, she was much better at hiding her secret. Perhaps, she had been in his presence so many days straight, she was worn out with pretending. Maybe she was still just tired. Was it because she did not know how he would react to his sister's possible feelings for Faramir of Gondor? She certainly was not going to tell the protective brother of it. Even if she might support such a relationship.

Mellolaes grabbed a bowl and began ladling some of the Marigold tea into it. She just had to pour it through a strainer and into a mug, get the stubborn human to drink it, and sing him to sleep. Likely, Legolas would not even be there when she turned back around. He had no reason to be. And Faramir of Gondor had been much too tired to notice anything... probably...

"Thank you Mellolaes, did she say where she was going?" Legolas asked.

 _He was still there?!_

Mellolaes paused and remained still for a moment collecting her thoughts to answer his question. She stiffened as her last conversation with Liliya came back to her.

Legolas noticed that Mellolaes seemed a bit flustered; although maybe he was just hoping to see some reaction because he liked her and was looking for some sort of sign that she liked him. A few times in recent years he had been tempted to ask Liliya if Mellolaes had any feelings for him... but he always pulled out at the last minute thinking that it would be inappropriate. After all it was his own fault that he wasn't good with emotions, he was a warrior, not a healer.

"Are you okay Mellolaes?" Legolas asked.

When Legolas spoke again, she stood up and turned around. "I'm fine. A little tired perhaps. Actually, Liliya said she was going to look for you. Perhaps you might catch her if you rush back to the archery range." Mellolaes gave her prince a half-smirk. "That is where everyone expects to find you."

Usually Faramir was not that slow to catch on. Well, usually he was not fighting his own body's limitations either.

Slowly but surely Faramir began to understand what it might be that made those two act and react that oddly. Apparently neither of the two knew, though. And he knew too little about elven culture and society, especially that of Mirkwood, to judge whether the attraction between them was a good or a bad thing, whether it should be encouraged or not. Legolas was royalty, after all, and Mellolaes, for all he knew, was not.

While he, for some inexplicable reason, did not particularly like Legolas, he did not really dislike him either. In fact, he could empathize with him to a certain extent. On the other hand Faramir found that he did like Mellolaes and he did not want her to get hurt. As a healer she protected him. That he felt protective of her also was only natural. Was it not?

She was not frail, even after knowing her only for a few moments he recognized that. Yet, there were things that even the strongest in mind and body could not defend themselves against.

Against his better judgment he made a decision.

The only time two people could not find common ground was when they did not speak. He would give them time to speak. Alone.

It was only a few steps from his bed to a door that led out to a small terrace overlooking the valley. Had he not been as stubborn as he was he would not have made it. Pressing one hand against his wounded side increased the pain at first and pumped enough adrenalin through his body to move, but then dulled it considerably. It was a stupid trick that did more harm than good, but if one needed to escape despite being struck down it could save a life.

Mellolaes' eyes widened and jaw dropped. What in Middle Earth did that mortal think he was doing? Moments ago he had told her he was too tired to eat and now he was rising from his bed!

Faramir was sweating and trembling a little when he sat down on the small bench outside, leaning against the wall behind him. Yet, somehow the distraction, as well as the fresh air, did him good. He had never done well behind stone walls. Something that he had in common with Finduilas who would have withered away had it not been for Minas Tirith's small gardens. Faramir smiled.

Hopefully those two Mirkwood elves would take the hint.

Few things could move the pity of a healer when they felt the need to be firm with their patients, but Mellolaes was a Silvan elleth. If there was one thing they understood, it was the need to be outside.

Very well. He could drink his tea and fall asleep out there, if he needed the breeze on his face and sky above him. Being outdoors might do her some good too. Mellolaes began to follow, but she had to pass by Legolas to do so. She paused and looked towards him. What was he still doing there? Why was he not sprinting back down the hall to speak to his sister?

"Are you sure you are okay Mellolaes? You don't look like you are," Legolas said before he could stop himself and force himself to turn away and find Liliya. He hadn't left yet because he didn't think she was fine and he was trying to decide if he should push her for the truth.

Mellolaes turned towards her prince. His eyes seemed to be studying her as if he were a healer and she his patient. That was absurd. Still, if she had not convinced him thus far, perhaps a little truth was in order so they could both go back to their tasks.

"No. I am not alright. I have a sick patient. I have not slept lying down since the last night we spent traveling here. The mortal I came here to find is not here. Perhaps he will never come here at all. I may never see him again. And that does not seem fair. For a brief time, I was as close to a parent as he had. Now I have not seen him for years. If he was an elf, that might not matter much. But he is a man, and if I do not see him again now, there is a good chance I never will. And now here is another mortal far from home and his people. Everyone else in this house seems too busy to care for or stay with him. He seems an easy man to care about, but within a century he will be gone. Why must they pass so quickly and we linger so long?"

Mellolaes slapped a hand over her mouth. How had she let all that slip out, and to Legolas Thranduilion of all elves?! She stared into his face.

Legolas was rather surprised when Mellolaes just went of into a rant, saying that it wasn't fair for mortals to die so quickly when they didn't. "We cannot change the laws of nature. Now get some rest when you can, and I have to find my sister." He eventually said, turning and walking out of the healing wing, heading towards the archery range.

 **A/N: We'd love to know what you think (reviews are treasured) and if you are interested in joining the fun, you can find us at fanfiction forum/Lord-of-the-Rings-RP/180999/**

 **apologies for awkwardness of link... FF is not being helpful here ;)**


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